


Better to Have Loved and Lost

by KLStarre



Category: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/F, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, Protective Siblings, this Will have moonshine/jaina it's just not there yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24068602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KLStarre/pseuds/KLStarre
Summary: Jaina Bronzebeard is afraid. She doesn’t show it - she has been well trained by the court and by her father in how to conceal her emotions – but she feels it nonetheless, deep down in her bones. For once, she almost wishes her beard were longer, so that it could conceal the tension in her jaw, the slight trembling in her neck.(Or, the history of Jaina Bronzebeard, and how her present came to be.)
Relationships: Gemma Bronzebeard & Jaina Bronzebeard, Gemma Bronzebeard/Hardwon Surefoot (mentioned)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	Better to Have Loved and Lost

**Author's Note:**

> I know I tagged for it, but warning for Wilhelm Bronzebeard Being Wilhelm Bronzebeard.

Jaina Bronzebeard is afraid. She doesn’t show it - she has been well trained by the court and by her father in how to conceal her emotions – but she feels it nonetheless, deep down in her bones. For once, she almost wishes her beard were longer, so that it could conceal the tension in her jaw, the slight trembling in her neck. She will be eighteen in a week, and as the oldest daughter of a dying house, that means that she will become the Lady of House Bronzebeard, forever, or until she disgraces the family enough that she disappears in the night.

She has no plans of disgracing her family.

But that doesn’t mean she plans on being a Lady. Which is why she is here, standing at the door outside her father’s rooms, fist clenched by her side but unable to knock. Maybe she should wait. Talk to Gemma first, talk to someone better at this than she. Wait until she is a Lady, and then change the rules behind the scenes, like she and Gemma have talked about. An image flashes in her head of herself, ten years from now, draped in finery, beard long and lustrous, her beautiful warhammer hung above the mantel and gone rusty with disuse. She knocks.

The sound of gauntlet against stone echoes, and she pulls back immediately, as if she can take the motion back. She can’t, of course. The results of her actions are her responsibility, always. The echo fades and, for a second, there is silence, and within her ceremonial armor, she can feel a bead of sweat trickle its way down her spine. The door swings open. “You may enter,” says her father’s voice.

She steps inside, aware of every sound her armor makes, aware of her own breathing, the in and out in and out. The room is well lit, a large bed in the corner, paintings on the walls. A deep red carpet. A desk, where her father sits. She has been here a hundred times before. “Jaina, my daughter,” her father says, turning his head only slightly to catch a glimpse of her, before returning to his work. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jaina remains standing just inside the doorway, unsure of what to do. Yesterday, she had wrestled one of the champions of Irondeep into submission, held him down while the crowd counted ten. Now, in the face of court ritual, in the face of asking for help, in the face of her father, she is all but frozen.

“Well?” he asks, not looking up again.

“I am almost eighteen.” There. A good, safe start. A way to test defenses. This is a battle, even if it’s not the kind that she’s trained for.

“Indeed.”

“I wish to remove myself from the line of succession.” A sudden swing, quick and unexpected, put her enemy on the defensive. Pull back, shield up. “If you will allow it.”

This, finally, causes Wilhelm Bronzebeard to turn to her, to stand. “You wish to…remove yourself from the line of succession? Dishonor the family?”

Jaina takes half a step back before remembering to stand her ground. A retreat can be tactically sound but, in the face of simple intimidation, it is a sign of weakness. Her hand drifts to the head of her hammer, hanging by her side. “No, my lord. I’ve been offered a position training under the Kingsguard, with the possibility of joining them in a few years.”

Her father crosses his arms, looks at her for a moment too long. She does not know what she’ll do if she says no. She cannot think of a time in her life when she’s disobeyed him, and even the thought is – her grip on her hammer tightens. She cannot disobey, and she thinks she might die if she has to be anything but a knight. “This would leave Gemma as the heir.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Gemma refuses to come to lessons. She spends all of her time fraternizing with the dwarphans.”

“She is well liked, father.” Somehow this has turned from a formal request into a plea. “And – she will fill the role better than I ever could.”

Again, he regards her. “You understand this is a disappointment.” His voice is calm. Straight-forward. As if he is just voicing something they both already know.

Jaina bows her head. There is a quick flash of anger, deep down in her stomach, but she buries it, quick. Some battles aren’t worth fighting. If you can’t pick your enemy, at least choose the terrain. “Yes, father.”

“Well, I suppose I cannot argue with that. Join the Kingsguard, then. We’ll see how much good it does you.” Wilhelm Bronzebeard turns away from her, sits back down at his desk, picks up his pen and dips it into ink.

Jaina stands in silence for a long time, unsure if she has been dismissed. Eventually, she turns and leaves, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible. She’s won. She’s done it. She doesn’t have to join the court, or give up her hammer, or marry someone politically advantageous. It had been easier than she’d thought it would be, she thinks, as she returns to her own room. She’d expected – something. To have to prove herself, to justify wanting to protect the king. It had been so easy.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t feel like a victory.

That night, from her room, in the dark, she hears the yelling. The words are indiscernible, but the tone is clear, and she can’t even hear Gemma fighting back over their father’s roar. Something smashes against a wall. She should – go in. Put a stop to it. It’s her fault, she should handle it.

She throws back her covers, stands up, reaches for the hammer hanging by her bed, and is moving to her door when silence falls. She opens the door anyway, just in time for Gemma to come running in, eyes red and puffy, hair in disarray.

Gemma is fourteen. _Fuck_ , Gemma is only fourteen and this is all her fault.

Side by side, they sit together on Jaina’s bed.

“Why didn’t you _warn_ me?” Gemma asks. She doesn’t sound like she’s just been crying. She never sounds like she’s just been crying.

“I did.” Jaina says. “I told you I’d been offered a training position on the Kingsguard. I told you I would die if I couldn’t take it.” This is not what Gemma means, and they both know it. They have both known for as long as they’ve been able to articulate that Jaina was going to be a knight, not a Lady. And they have both known for weeks now that she was going to join the Kingsguard. What Gemma means is why hadn’t she warned her that it would be happening today? Why hadn’t she warned her about how bad it was going to be, why hadn’t she _protected_ her? “I didn’t know I was going to tell him today until I told him.”

“Why didn’t you warn me _after_?”

“I didn’t think it would be this bad. I thought if I – if I lay low maybe it wouldn’t be this bad.”

Gemma looks at Jaina in the dark, and Jaina meets her eyes and then looks away. After a moment, Gemma moves away and curls up on her side, laying her head on Jaina’s lap. “Sometimes I think he wants to kill me,” she mumbles, into the fabric of the bedsheets, and Jaina can’t think of a response but to run her fingers through Gemma’s hair. Gentle, repetitive, avoiding the braids in her beard.

“I’m sorry,” Jaina whispers, eventually, but Gemma is long asleep.

∞

Before someone is named a full member of the Kingsguard, there is a ceremony. It is only the greatest warriors who are fit to defend their king, and so, a relic from days of old, there is a wrestling tournament. If the new knight wins the tournament, they wrestle the king. It’s all a formality; Jaina has proven herself worthy, over three years of rigorous training and oaths and vigils. Even if she lost her first match, she would still be knighted with all the honors she would have received if she had won.

But Jaina had not lost her first match. Or her second, or her third. She’s been undefeated for a year and a half now, and she has no intention of ever losing again. It’s been years since someone has made it this far, years since the king had to actually step into the ring. But here they are, both almost entirely nude, oiled up, muscles glistening in the magical light.

The crowd is loud, and Jaina takes one glance to her left, spots Gemma and that boy she’s been spending time with, Hardwon Surefoot, and then shakes her head, tuning them out. The lights are bright, the ring is wide, and in front of her is King MacGannis, greatest warrior of Irondeep. He grins at her and, forgetting her station for a second, she grins back, thrusts her chin at him in challenge. He raises an eyebrow in response, and then the announcer’s voice sounds over everything, magically amplified.

“Dwarves of Irondeep, we bring to you: wrestling champion, soon to be Sir Jaina Bronzebeard. Hero of Irondeep, King Grimthor MacGannis. Betting closes now.”

Jaina breathes in. This is what she’s _good_ at. And the king is out of practice, hasn’t had to do this for real in years. Blood rushes in her ears.

“Contestants, your match begins in 3…2…1….-“

Jaina doesn’t process individual moves or grapples, the way she twists out of the way, dodges, fakes the king out, the way he gets his arms around her and almost has her on the ground before she’s able to escape and turn the hold on him. She just processes the way he moves – strong at first, confident, no hesitation, and then a flash of surprise on his face as the match goes on longer than he expects. Just like she’s practiced, she watches his eyes, and he’s good, of course, he knows how to avoid telegraphing his every move, but he’s not good _enough_. He’s spent too long sitting on his throne, having seen no real combat since the Giant Wars, and so eventually he makes a mistake that Jaina would never have made, not in a million years.

It happens too quickly for her to think, her body moving instinctually in all the ways that she’s trained it to move, and then her entire body is wrapped around the king’s, one leg out for leverage to pin him down, and she thinks she can hear the announcer counting ten but her teeth are gritted and the blood in her ears is drowning everything out and it’s not until someone comes out and peels her off that she realizes she’s won.

She shakes herself free from whoever it is that’s grabbed her and brushes herself off, collects herself and bows to King MacGannis as he stands up. He just laughs. “Well,” he says, reaching out a hand to shake hers. “That was invigorating.”

Jaina shakes the king’s hand, in full view of the arena, and no, her father isn’t there to see it, but the rest of the world is.

“Welcome to the Kingsguard, Jaina Bronzebeard.” MacGannis pulls her in to a hug, slaps her on the back, and then releases her and steps away. “You armor awaits you, I’ve been told.”

∞

At first, it seems as if the war won’t reach them. The forces of Asmodeus target the humans, mostly, and the humans have numbers that the dwarves simply do not. They sent Ulfgar, renowned hero, to help hunt down Asmodeus, and for months, everyone had hoped that would be enough.

But time drags on. The war continues to rage. The dwarves of Irondeep begin to grow restless at not being involved, and Asmodeus’s forces creep ever closer. It is a war that will destroy them all, if they let it.

“Why do _you_ have to go?” Gemma asks, when Jaina brings her the news that she will be fighting alongside the king to defend the mountain passes against those corrupted by the devil. It has not yet been announced, officially, that MacGannis will be joining the war, and Jaina is breaking her oaths to tell Gemma.

They are in Gemma’s rooms, perfectly arranged and clean, the lingering smell of the Dwarphanage the only indication that Gemma isn’t the perfect dwarven Lady that she has learned to present herself as. “I’m Kingsguard. The means I guard the king.”

“There are so many Kingsguard. Are they _all_ going?”

“No. Some are staying behind in case we need a rescue, or last-minute reinforcements.”

“Why aren’t you one of them?”

“Because the king trusts me.” Jaina is proud of this, proud to know it is true. She has served long, and well, and she has made sacrifices for her position that she’s taken great care not to allow most of Iron Deep to be aware of. Gemma knows, though. Gemma knows, and Jaina’s not quite sure that she’s ever forgiven her.

“I want you to stay.” To not leave her alone with their father, to not go to war and come back a different person, like the veterans of the Giant Wars who have never quite recovered, to not go to war and come back not at all.

“I can’t.”

“I know.”

“But I’ll be back.”

“You can’t _know_ that!” Gemma doesn’t cry anymore, hasn’t for years, but there is a slight tremble in her lower lip that Jaina can’t help but fixate on.

“I can. I do. You are my sister and I will be back for you.”

They sleep in the same room, that night, Jaina curled up on a stack of pillows on Gemma’s floor, like they haven’t in years. Jaina isn’t young or foolish enough to dream of glory, but she dreams of it anyway, that night, dreams of deflecting a blow before it hits the king and of being the one to smash Asmodeus’s head in. She dreams of coming back victorious, most of all. Of keeping her promise to her sister that she will be there to protect her, even in a war, even after.

In the morning, Jaina dons her armor before Gemma even awakes and leaves. Three days later, she comes back. The forces of Asmodea are at their gates, now, and so Jaina participates in attack after attack, desperate attempt to break out of the siege after desperate attempt. She fights, she bleeds, she protects, she spends nights lying awake counting her heartbeats. The war stretches years from when the dwarves join in, and thousands die, and Kingsguard get replaced, and she spends her weekends at mass funerals.

But still, she comes back for Gemma. She always comes back.


End file.
